The Trials of ObiWan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan
by Galatyn Renner
Summary: At a diplomatic reception, Obi-Wan has girl problems, or rather, girls have Obi-Wan problems.


The Trials of Obi-Wan Kenobi, Jedi Padawan  
  
By Galatyn Renner  
  
For Reid, on his birthday.  
  
"Master," I whispered, tugging at the collar of my formal robes as the third pair of giggling females passed us in as many standard minutes, "why are they staring at us? Surely they must have encountered Jedi before."  
  
"No doubt they have." His lips twitched under his beard, and I saw him lift his half-empty cup of punch to hide a smile. "However, I believe the source of the young ladies' continued interest and amusement is you, Padawan."  
  
"Me, Master?" I looked down to see if I might have spilled something on my robes, wiping surreptitiously at my mouth with the napkin I held crumpled in one hand.  
  
Qui-Gon's smile widened. "You, Padawan. You've grown into a fine young man; they find you attractive."  
  
I bowed my head at his compliment, unexpected and extravagant as it was, and began to stroke the end of my braid, a habit I often find myself engaging in when nervous.  
  
"I imagine," he continued, "that they are waiting for your stodgy and intimidating Master to leave you alone, that they may approach you in private.  
  
"Master," I protested, inspecting a scuff on the side of my left boot that I was sure had not been there when I was preparing for the diplomatic reception earlier that evening, "you are neither stodgy nor intimidating, and I do not want you to leave me alone. I am sure my time would be much better spent back in our rooms, as I have reading for Master Jerram that--"  
  
"Obi-Wan." He cut me off, his voice low and sharp, in the middle of a line of reasoning I'd tried on him at least twice, before the reception. "I require your presence here, if for nothing more than to relieve the tedium that invariably accompanies such functions."  
  
"Yes, Master." I ventured to raise my head, only to catch the eye of a girl standing next to us, gazing ardently in my direction. She blushed and turned away. Despairing, I returned my gaze to my boot and began to pick at the smear of dirt with the Force.  
  
Qui-Gon's attention had turned away from me, it seemed, to the lanky greenish Twi'lek whose entrance had just been announced. "Senator Veda'cura has seen fit to grace us with his presence tonight. I trust I may leave you to occupy yourself while I speak with him, Padawan?"  
  
"Of course, Master," I said, slightly injured, and then realized as he strode off through the crowd that I was now, as he had predicted, at the mercies of the females in the room. Master, I--  
  
It will be good for you, Obi-Wan. And with that cryptic thought, he closed our mindlink.  
  
In my seventeen years I had faced murderous space pirates, corrupt spicelords, and sinister bureaucrats, but I confess to feeling more nervous in that moment, as he left me, than ever in my life, except possibly during my ninth form 'saber test before Master Yoda two weeks previous.  
  
"Excuse me, sir." I looked up as a softly accented female voice broke through my reverie. A Trianii dressed in the livery of the Viceroy's servants stood in front of me, holding a tray of steaming yellowish pastries. "May I tempt you with an egg crescent, Master Jedi? Our chef has just sent them up."  
  
The things smelled delicious. I helped myself to two and thanked her. She moved on to the next guest, smiling and twitching her long, lithe tail. With a sigh of relief, I bit into one of the egg crescents. Warm, viscous filling oozed down my chin, and I barely halted its progress with my abused napkin before it stained my tunic. Feeling foolish, I chewed in ecstasy, for the pastry tasted as good as it had smelled. The other half was consumed without incident, but, to prevent a repeat of the previous episode, I ate the second egg crescent whole. This proved a mistake, as it left my mouth uncomfortably full. I tried to chew and swallow as quickly as possible, hearing with a sinking heart the sound of giggles approaching.  
  
I felt them pass me twice, stopping directly in front of me at last. I looked up, mouth finally empty, to see a pair of Rodian females clad in ice- blue gowns that revealed much of their smooth green skin. I felt my ears growing hot as they chatted to each other in staccato bursts of their native tongue. What little Rodian I understood let me pick up enough of the conversation to force the blush up my cheeks as I searched for a polite way to extricate myself from the situation.  
  
They tittered further as my flushed countenance made it clear that I was following some of their banter, and one of them reached out and asked slowly, but still in Rodian, if she could touch my braid. My mouth opened slightly at this affront, and I took a step backwards. When my powers of speech returned, I raised my hand and intoned, voice Force-laden, "You do not want to touch my braid. Both of you want to go and...have another cup of punch." They turned dazedly, and I watched them disappear through the crowd with mixed feelings of guilt and relief. I pictured myself confessing this misuse of my powers to Qui-Gon and cringed, wondering what punishment he would mete out. My Master would be hard put to assign me something worse than the attention of those two, but I had four year's worth of faith in his powers of creativity as a disciplinarian, and was sure he would come up with something.  
  
Not knowing how long my mindtrick would last, I looked around for some convenient venue of escape. A door a few meters to my left appeared to lead out onto a terrace. I edged toward it, every sense on heightened alert.  
  
"Ebastien, stop!" I heard a female voice raised in protest as I emerged into the night. In the shadows at the far ends of the balcony stood a couple, apparently struggling. The woman's back was pressed up against the railing, and the man holding her there appeared much the worse for drink.  
  
"Just one more kiss, sweetness," I heard him mutter as he leaned toward her.  
  
"Mistress," I inquired, "may I be of assistance?" I felt like a 'droid, but the words got the man's attention.  
  
He backed away from the terrace edge, turning toward me. "This's none o' your business, whoe'er you—  
  
"Jedi Apprentice Obi-Wan Kenobi," I informed him. "Now be about your business, and leave this woman in peace." He glared at me and took himself off, muttering imprecations.  
  
Free, the woman stumbled over to me. "Jedi Kenobi," she gushed, quite drunk herself, "how can I ever thank you?"  
  
I inclined my head without speaking, hoping that she would take my meaning that no thanks were needed, and then go away. The Force seemed not to be with me in this, for she threw her arms around me, planting a wet kiss on my ear.  
  
"Madam," I said, removing myself from her embrace and backing toward the door, "you must excuse me." A bit of Force power found it's way into my 'must'; she looked at me blankly, and I escaped.  
  
Once back in the reception area, I cast about frantically for a more reliable hiding place. Spotting Qui-Gon across the room, deep in conversation with the senator, I knew he would be no help. And in front of him, were the two Rodian women, elbowing their way toward me. I turned, desperate now, and my eye lit on one of the curtained window alcoves. I folded into the heavy, concealing drapes. As I attempted to sit on the window ledge, I encountered the softness of another body, not the duracrete I had been expecting.  
  
The person squeaked. I bounded up, trying to still remain hidden. "My apologies," I whispered.  
  
"It's quite all right," a woman's warm voice whispered back. "I saw Lanika and Shardae--" The curtains rustled, and I had just enough time to wrap the Force around me, rendering myself invisible, before a sucker-fingered Rodian hand yanked them aside.  
  
My ruse worked. After a few coarse remarks and an annoyed glance at my companion, the two left. I dropped my concentration, only to hear the woman beside me laughing quietly. "Nice trick," she murmured. "I wish I could do it."  
  
I said nothing, hoping that this female had no designs on my person. "Calm down," she continued, and I felt a light touch on my sleeve, "I'm not going to give you away."  
  
Slumping against the cool transparisteel of the window, I let out the breath I had not realized I was holding. "Thank you," I said, not looking at her.  
  
"You're welcome," she replied, her voice full of contained laughter. "You're not enjoying yourself tonight, are you?"  
  
"I am not," I confessed.  
  
"Poor fellow," she said, words still humor laden. "It is the price we pay for beauty."  
  
"Mistress--" I turned toward her, half to discern if her statement were true concerning herself, and half to protest it concerning my appearance. My argument died on my lips, for she was at least half right. The moonlight turned her flawless skin pearly, and glinted off the coronet of braids into which her fair hair had been arranged. Her eyes, luminous and expressive, were the only sign that she was at least five standard years older than I was.  
  
Seeing my ardent gaze, the woman shifted on the window seat and presented her back to me. As the low-cut gown revealed an expanse of creamy shoulder and neck, the beauty of the view was only slightly diminished. "I thought Jedi were supposed to be immune to these things." Her voice was slightly muffled.  
  
"We are still men, my lady, not saints." I found my voice, but the words were husky. Ashamed, I turned away from her, berating myself for my lack of control as I sucked in a few deep breaths to calm myself and begin a meditation.  
  
"Look at me, Jedi." There was steel in her command, and something else that I could not name. I turned, already half into my trance. She gave me a brief, devouring glance and then closed her eyes, looking exhausted. "Offer me the same courtesy you would ask of the females you're hiding from. We are here on common purpose, after all."  
  
Chagrined, I nodded. A mental picture came to me, as clearly as if he had sent it, of my Master's face should he discover me here with this woman. "I will leave you, then."  
  
She put out a hand to stop me, though I hadn't moved. "Don't go. Jedi—I don't know your name."  
  
"Obi-Wan Kenobi." I inclined my head to her.  
  
"Jedi Kenobi, then. I'm Rebece." She held out a hand to me, and Force only knows what made me lift it and brush the lithe, white fingers with my lips.  
  
She laughed and took her hand back. "That was very nicely done. Do you kiss many women's hands?"  
  
"No," I said, feeling my ears grow red, wondering if she was mocking me.  
  
"Well, you had better not start, else you'll have more following you than you do now."  
  
Thinking this sound advice, but having no suitable response, I dipped my head in a slight, noncommittal nod. The air between us grew less heavy the longer we sat silent in the dim light, and my desire to lose myself in meditation evaporated. Instead, I began to enjoy her company.  
  
"My lady," I ventured, hearing the classical jizz band strike up an Alderaanian waltz outside, "perhaps to be seen dancing with someone of your own choosing would deter your persuants."  
  
Her eyes lit. "Perhaps. Who did you have in mind?"  
  
"My Master is an excellent dancer, and quite a deterrent, I'm told, but he is currently--" I sent a tendril of thought along the mindlink that I shared with Qui-Gon "—squiring Senator Veda'cura's sister about." She arched one lovely eyebrow at me. "Which leaves me to offer you my services." I made her the best bow I could manage while still seated.  
  
"This would, of course, also solve your problems."  
  
Grinning, I nodded. "As you say."  
  
"Then shall we dance, Jedi Kenobi?" I swept aside the heavy drapes so she could stand and exit unhampered, and then followed her out onto the dance floor, already teeming with people.  
  
She made me a curtsey and I bowed, feeling, as I had much of the evening, a complete fool. Dancing lessons with Qui-Gon Jinn kicked in shortly thereafter, and the memory of my Master's voice guided me through the steps.  
  
Not part of the standard curriculum taught at the Temple, Qui-Gon had taken it upon himself to teach me some of the more common classical dances, that I might acquit myself well at events like this. The steps had come easily to me, used as I was to balance and precision of movement from my lightsaber training, but moving to the commands of my Master and actually guiding a woman between other revolving couples were banthas of quite different hues, I discovered.  
  
'Step, step, step, cross, step,' I thought, trying to watch both my partner's face and my feet. Fortunately, Rebece was proving a competent dancer herself, with enough grace to allow me to maintain my illusion of leading. It was not she who stepped left instead of back.  
  
I opened my mouth to offer an apology, and then shut it abruptly when I saw whom we had collided with. My Master looked down at me, dwarfing the Twi'lek woman in his arms. I gathered my wits to provide an explanation, mental or verbal, but Qui-Gon merely smiled at Rebece and moved his partner safely away from us. Thinking I had taken his advice, he would be insufferable for days after this.  
  
The next dance, the evening's last, was a slow, intimate one. I did not feel my participation would be in line with the Code, and had grown comfortable enough with Rebece to tell her as much. She smiled, said she understood, and asked me to excuse her.  
  
Feeling the need myself for some relief from the hot, scent-cloyed ballroom, I stepped out onto the terrace, gulping deep breaths of the night. I felt rather than heard Qui-Gon join me. He laid a hand on my shoulder, a warm weight, and we stood looking out at the nocturnal beauty of the Viceroy's gardens for a long moment.  
  
"You did well, Padawan," Qui-Gon said, breaking the silence. He must have sensed my puzzlement, for he continued. "I had not though Count Dirigo amenable to the treaty, but now I believe his wife will convince him of the Viceroy's –and our—honorable intentions."  
  
"His wife, Master? Lady Dirigo did not attend the reception." I was still confused; perhaps the air from inside was still fuddling my wits. We had both been introduced to the Count at the commencement of the evening; he had informed us regretfully that his wife was nowhere to be found. Qui-Gon could not have forgotten this.  
  
"So it appeared, Padawan, until she emerged on your arm ten minutes ago. She dances now with her husband, no doubt informing him of your admirable conduct."  
  
I stiffened, my eyes on a tiny, noctilucent bird fluttering about the grounds below. "I must go and make my apologies to Count Dirigo." My voice was strange in my ears, as though someone else was speaking, and I was hearing them from a distance. I swayed slightly as the weight of fatigue and responsibility enveloped me.  
  
"You will not." The hand on my shoulder turned me around and directed me back into the reception room, through the dispersing guests, and out the ballroom's double doors. Back in our rooms, Qui-Gon forbade me to stay up and complete Master Jerram's assignment, as it was well into the early morning, and ordered me to bed. It was a long time before I slept.  
  
I woke shortly before noon and, after a hurried wash, dashed into the common room, berating myself for my sloth. Qui-Gon was not there. Instead, seated at the small table, was Rebece.  
  
I bowed, as if to a stranger, and looked to the door. "Where is my Master?"  
  
She did not answer immediately. I could feel her eyes on me. "He is watching my husband and Viceroy Trichin make peace between Atarné's two hemispheres." She paused. "Obi-Wan—may I call you Obi-Wan?"  
  
I nodded, thinking that 'Apprentice Kenobi' would be more appropriate, but aware that I owed her more courtesy than she owed me.  
  
"Obi-Wan, then. I feel I have deceived you, and ask your pardon for it."  
  
"I would give it, of course, my lady, if anything lay between us to forgive. My remonstrances, however, are owed to Count Dirigo." I could not bring myself to say 'your husband'. "If you will excuse me--" I strode toward the door.  
  
"Obi-Wan." Arrested by the authority in her voice, so like my Master's, I stopped short. "You will not go to my husband because you have nothing to confess to him. You danced and conversed with a woman you thought unattached. I neither said nor did anything to make you think otherwise. You conducted yourself with courtesy and propriety." She stood and crossed to me. "You will not go to my husband because doing so may disrupt the signing of the treaty that you and your Master have worked so hard to bring into being." Her hands went to my shoulders, gripping hard. "And you will 'not' go to my husband, Obi-Wan Kenobi, because he is a jealous man, and I like you." She had to look up to meet my eyes and stand on tiptoe to kiss my cheek. Her lips were soft and feathery, but they burned as they touched my skin, marking me.  
  
"And because my husband is a jealous man, I must go." She turned to leave.  
  
"My la—Rebece!" She looked back at me, eyes bright. "I greatly enjoyed your company last night."  
  
The turmoil within me after her departure belied the oneness with the Force I had thought I possessed. Meditation would have been the logical remedy, but the stack of datapads I had brought from the Temple offered a more stimulating diversion. I immersed myself in the history of the Order, wrestling with facts to push everything else from my focus, a kind of meditation itself.  
  
When Qui-Gon returned, he found me typing the analysis of my reading. He said nothing and I said nothing, but understanding passed between us without communication. He disappeared into his room, and I felt him sink into reflection. I finished my report, proofread it, and stood, stretching my cramped muscles. I had been sitting for nearly three hours: it was afternoon.  
  
Stepping into the center of the floor, away from any furniture, I began the seventh unarmed form, replacing mental exertion with physical. When my muscles were trembling, and my robes drenched in sweat, I submitted to a frigid, cleansing stint in the refresher, and dropped into meditation and nearly into sleep. Had we been at the Temple, I would have cleaned, neatening Qui-Gon's and my possessions and then going over our quarters for dust. My Master had long ago banned all cleaning 'droids from our rooms, knowing of this idiosyncratic penchant of mine.  
  
Over the evening meal, which we had elected been to eat in our rooms, instead of joining our host for a formal dinner, Qui-Gon looked at me and said phlegmatically, "You have been very industrious today, Obi-Wan."  
  
I chewed my mouthful of bread well before answering. "Yes, Master," I said, not sure where he was leading with this line of conversation.  
  
"Are you in need of more tasks upon which to expend your energy, Padawan? You have not yet dismantled our rooms in search of uncleanliness." He pinned me with an inquiring look before returning his attention to our meal.  
  
I knew what he was up to now, and my, "No, Master" was tinged with desperation. Qui-Gon would continue this line of inconsequential conversation until I went mad, or told him about what I was refusing to think.  
  
"Good. Such actions would reflect unfavorably upon the Viceroy's hospitality."  
  
"Yes, Master." I sighed and chewed.  
  
He went on like this for some time; my answers did not change, amazed as I was at the depth of banality Qui-Gon was producing about the treaty's signing. He described in minute detail the representatives from each half of Atarné and their positions on the treaty, enumerating what they had and had not been saying to each other. Conspicuous also was his complete lack of information concerning Count Dirigo and his wife. This one-sided banter went on for the entirety of our meal, until I was staring dejectedly down at my empty plate.  
  
"Master--" I began, and then did not know where to go from there. Qui-Gon stopped speaking, and the sheer absence of sound startled me.  
  
"Padawan," he echoed.  
  
I gritted my teeth. "Master, I am...at a loss concerning my feelings for Lady Dirigo. Did she speak to you?"  
  
"Only briefly, to inform me that she was coming here, and of what lay between the two of you." My head sank lower onto my chest. "Padawan, I see I have allowed you to remain under the delusion that I disapprove of you actions with Lady Dirigo."  
  
I looked up to see that he was serious, the words, "Oh, don't you?" on my lips.  
  
"I do not, Obi-Wan."His stern look turned to a slight smile. "I trust you, and I did rather force you into the situation, after all."  
  
Unable to think of anything to say that would help my case further, I remained silent, reaffirmed in my belief that Qui-Gon Jinn, like the Force, was an omniscient presence in the galaxy.  
  
"Lady Dirigo did not wish to burden you with her history, although it would have relived this guilt on your part."  
  
"Master, whatever her history, the fact remains that dalliance, especially with a bound being, is against the Code!" I had not thought my Master's lack of respect for the Code extended this far.  
  
"You did not dally, Padawan, and I would have taken no great offense to it if you had. Lady Dirigo's life is not a happy one. She married to prevent her family's ruin, and Count Dirigo, still amazed at his good fortune, zealously guards his wife. Most of the men in attendance last night were her former suitors, which may have been her reason for remaining concealed for much of the reception. She is, as you may have noticed, very beautiful."  
  
"Yes, Master," I mumbled.  
  
"I do not fault you for that, either, Obi-Wan."  
  
"Thank you, Master," I said, a bit louder.  
  
"It would be wise of you to take yourself to bed, Padawan, before I have to carry you." 


End file.
